Stray
by Cybra
Summary: One gains a reminder of the importance of keeping his word when he makes an unintended promise while excommunicating an unsatisfactory student. He takes on a sickly street child with no name as a pupil and ends up learning quite a bit himself.
1. Prologue

Stray  
>By Cybra<p>

**A/N:** An interesting concept deserthaze of deviantart came up with that I had to roll with. Future chapters will be longer. And I chose today to post the beginning up because it was Father's Day. Happy Father's Day to all dads and dads-to-be out there!

**Disclaimer:** _Generator Rex_ belongs to Man of Action. The movie _Aladdin_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

Prologue

Her plan was working perfectly.

Holiday smiled to herself as she dug her hand deeper into the bowl. She tossed a handful of the popcorn into her mouth, chewing on it with satisfaction as she watched Rex and Noah who sat on the floor in front of her with their eyes glued to the TV screen, Rex absently reaching out to swat at Bobo as the monkey slurped a soda.

Rex and Six were temporarily relieved of duty after their last mission. It had provided plenty of evidence that even the most textbook of EVO incidents could go horrendously wrong if someone wasn't paying attention. It hadn't been either's fault, yet Rex had ended up with a busted leg while Six had received four broken ribs. Both had been lucky to walk away mostly intact, something she was eternally relieved for. Bobo had been the only one left relatively unscathed aside from some burns.

Holiday had received permission from Knight to let Noah visit for the weekend to keep Rex company. The teenage EVO had been steadily losing his mind due to inactivity, and she'd been worried he'd hurt himself even worse if he tried to use one of his builds to escape the boredom.

She smirked as she glanced to her left at the other person on the couch, the man having dozed off within the first five minutes of the opening trailers. It had taken much cajoling to get Six to take the oxycodone he'd been prescribed for the "discomfort" he'd been feeling. (What Six called "discomfort", most people called "God Almighty, help me!" pain.) However, the trouble had been worth it. Six on painkillers was easily one of the most entertaining things she'd seen in a while: The man had relaxed to the point of being partially narcoleptic. Still, it was good to see him getting some rest considering he'd been spending _his_ unexpected free time prowling Providence headquarters as if expecting an attack any minute.

She'd suggested that in place of this week's family dinner they watch movies and order pizza. The teenagers had enthusiastically agreed to it. Bobo had looked relieved to have the week off cooking duty without the "threat" of Holiday taking over. (Honestly, why couldn't they just let the cake thing _go?)_ Six had offered no opinion either way but had still gone along with it.

Which brought them to that particular moment in time as they watched _Aladdin_ for the first time Rex could remember. Holiday laughed and shook her head at the "horse with two rear ends" quip, amazed at how that joke had flown over her head when she'd first seen the movie as a child.

The snooty nobleman on the screen sneered down at the animated hero. "You're nothing but a worthless street rat. You were born a street rat, you will die a street rat, and only your fleas will mourn you."

Six flinched in his sleep.

Holiday's hand paused halfway to her mouth, the popcorn still in her hand. She blinked as she saw Six shift positions, his sunglasses sliding down a little to show his eyelids twitching.

She wondered what he was dreaming about that could have gained such a reaction.


	2. Street Rat

Stray  
>By Cybra<p>

**A/N:** Off-topic but, happy birthday, America!

**Disclaimer:** _Generator Rex_ belongs to Man of Action.

Chapter 1: Street Rat

_Several years ago…_

One knew he was old in mercenary years. In fact, anyone could easily argue that the most dangerous man in the world was practically ancient for his profession. Unlike many others, One had reached the age where grey had started to dust his hair and the crow's feet at the edges of his eyes were more pronounced. Of the very few who managed to reach his age in this business, most of them chose to retire long before now. However, One not only stayed active, he even took on students.

Of course, most of these students he disliked. He could count on one hand the number of students he'd felt were worthy of giving them the final lessons he'd learned…

"Master, I believe I'm ready to complete my training."

…and this "Darius" (if that was even the man's real name) definitely wasn't going to be one of them.

"Do you now?" One asked dryly.

Darius gave a sharp nod. "I've trained with you for months, Master. You've said that I'm an apt student."

Truth be told, Darius wasn't wrong. One _had_ told him that, and he'd meant it. The man had learned the new techniques quickly, adding them to his already impressive fighting style. Unfortunately for Darius, he'd also ignored every little correction to the skills he'd already "perfected" that One offered.

Fighting ability was only part of the equation. The humility to accept that there was always room for improvement was another, and this particular student didn't have that.

But most important thing Darius lacked was that special spark.

A loud _clang!_ echoed from the alleyway they were passing. The two men paused and listened intently. One's eyes glanced about and focused on a small shadow in the alley hunched over a trashcan. The source of that shadow must've knocked off the lid.

A plan quickly formed in One's mind. "All right, but first…"

He dashed quickly into the alley, moving faster than most people could track. The small shadow became the figure of a child, too distracted by the rotten apple in his hand to notice One's presence before the man grabbed the boy and pulled him out into the last fading rays of sunset, holding him by the shoulders.

One presented the boy before Darius. "…you have to kill this child."

There was no hesitation on Darius's part as he moved swiftly forward, drawing that ornate knife that he was so proud of. His eyes were locked on the boy, automatically aiming for the child's heart.

Surprisingly enough, the boy One held made no sound. Instead, the child relaxed in One's grip as the shock of being grabbed wore off, replaced by resignation. Those bony shoulders slumped as their owner prepared for the end, not even bothering to scream for help.

However, One pulled the child back at the last moment, pushing the boy behind him as he moved towards his student. A fist flew forward to strike Darius in the abdomen. As Darius stumbled, One grabbed the man's knife hand and gave it a vicious twist, snapping the bones with ease. The student gave a strangled cry, turning to try and avoid further assault only to lose his balance as One swept his feet out from under him. He fell backwards, gasping as One jabbed him in the spine with a knee before letting him hit the ground.

Darius lied half on his side, gasping for breath and writing in pain. He clutched his broken wrist with his free hand, the knife lying just out of arms' reach. "Master," he wheezed, _"why?"_

One glared down at him.

"I was your best student…Why…?"

"For one thing, you're trying to claim a title that you clearly don't deserve. No student of mine would fail such an obvious test." One sneered down at Darius. "More importantly, I ordered you to kill a child who'd done no wrong to either of us, and you were willing to do so without even the slightest hesitation for no reason other than to obtain my teachings."

"But we're…our job…"

"Yes, our job requires us to at times kill, but we need to have boundaries, limits to what we're willing to do. A sense of honor, you might say." His eyes narrowed. "And I'd never share those final lessons with a dishonorable creature like you!"

Darius struggled to sit up, groaning and falling back to the ground from the pain. He gazed desperately up at his teacher.

One walked back to the boy, looking over his shoulder at his fallen student. He placed a hand on one far too thin shoulder and said, "This little urchin is more worthy of my teachings than you, and I'd prefer to teach him. If you ever set foot on my island again, I'll kill you."

One released the boy and continued walking, leaving his former student in disgrace with the street child. If he remembered the map correctly, the bus terminal was a few blocks over. Due to this being such a remote town, it was very likely that there weren't any buses leaving this late. Especially any that was headed in the direction of home. He'd simply head back to the hotel for the night once he'd bought a ticket for tomorrow's earliest bus.

He heard the faint sound of footfalls behind him. He turned his head, preparing a throwing knife if that worm Darius was following him.

To One's surprise, it was the boy whose life he'd risked, bare feet quietly slapping the cement with each step.

One turned his attention back to what lie ahead of him. The child would give up soon enough. He continued walking.

But for each step he took, he heard two of the child's. Periodically there was a horrible hacking cough which stopped the boy's steps. Yet each time One was certain the boy would quit, there came the hurried half-run of the child, a glance back showing him scurrying to catch up.

After several minutes of this, One stopped and turned around.

The boy stopped as well, reaching out to lean heavily on a lamppost.

"Why are you following me?"

"You…said…You said…" The boy gasped for breath, the sound coming out as a death rattle. "You said you…wanted to teach me…"

One frowned. "I have no time to—"

"Don't you dare promise me something you can't or won't keep!"

One's eyebrows shot to the sky at the vehemence of those words.

The child bent over, coughing and wheezing. Thick hardened mucous struck the ground as the boy spat it out. Even as he continued gasping, he raised his head to glare at the mercenary.

Those brown eyes showed so much. True, they shone largely due to fever but not even that could hide the determination. He was clearly on his last legs yet the boy wasn't about to let One off the hook so easily. Those eyes promised that this boy would follow him until he simply dropped dead.

One couldn't help but be impressed. He'd only said he'd teach the boy to humiliate his former student, but now…

He pushed the idea out of his head. "Boy, do you even know what I teach?"

The child shook his head.

"I teach the martial arts. Fighting techniques," he said at the boy's uncomprehending look. "And not the safe, afterschool sports styles, either. The pure styles which can be used to kill." He narrowed his eyes. "Train under me, and your bones will break and your body will bleed. You could even die in the process."

The child lowered his head, staring at the ground.

One started to turn away, satisfied that he'd convinced the boy to give up on such a ridiculous notion.

"…All right."

One turned back, unable to wipe the utter shock off of his face. "Come again?"

The boy wobbled as he attempted to straighten up. Then he repeated, "All right."

"Kid, don't you understand that you could _die_ from my training?"

"Yes, I do, but…" He coughed before looking back up at One. "…at least I wouldn't die out here, right?"

One locked eyes with the kid, trying to understand.

Before the mercenary could say anything, the boy slumped a bit, staring down at the sidewalk again. He said quietly, "If I'm going to die, I want it to be while trying to become something worthwhile than as just another piece of trash."

It was clear the boy's energy was flagging. He'd probably collapse at any time now.

One looked over the boy again. He truly was a pathetic sight. Undersized and grossly underweight, it was easy to see the kid's bones even with his skin coated with all that grime. The filthy rags that passed for clothing were barely hanging onto him. Everything about the boy screamed that he was the worst choice of student One could've ever asked for.

Yet he found himself walking towards the kid, turning his back on him and crouching down. "Hop on."

The boy hesitated.

He looked back. "I said I'd teach you, but even I can't teach anything to a corpse."

Seeing the logic in that statement, the boy climbed up onto his back. One jerked a bit as he felt something small jump onto him and took a bite. In addition to all the grime, it seemed the kid was crawling with insects.

However, One simply stood up and started walking, mentally noting that he was going to have to find the kid something to wear. Those rags were better off destroyed.

"What's your name, boy?"

He felt the child's shrug. "Whatever you wanna call me, I guess."

So the kid was a completely blank slate. This was going to be interesting.

"Well, my little shadow, I suppose I'll just have to come up with something."

* * *

><p>Sneaking the kid into his hotel room had been no trouble at all. With a room facing the outside, One hadn't needed to carry the now-sleeping child through the halls.<p>

One frowned as he adjusted the collection of skin and bones he cradled in his arms. It truly was a miracle that the boy had managed to survive while in such horrendous condition. He could easily hold the child with one arm as he unlocked the door.

The boy had curled up into a ball, his head resting in the crook of One's neck. His slick, greasy hair rubbed uncomfortably against One's chin. The man was going to need to take a shower after all this _and_ wash his clothes if the dark smudges on his sleeves were any indicator of what his back looked like right now.

He took the boy to his room's bathroom, shaking the child awake. "Little stray, I need you to strip."

The boy jerked awake, gazing at him warily before complying.

One ignored this, merely starting the bath before going to his suitcase. He searched through the contents for something the boy could change into once he was clean. The mercenary ended up laying out a long-sleeved shirt several sizes too big for the scrawny child. It looked like he had a shopping trip on his hands tomorrow.

Returning to the bathroom, One picked up the ruined fabric the boy had been wearing. Turning off the faucet, he ordered, "Get in. I'll be right back."

As the child slowly climbed in, One swiftly left the room and proceeded to toss the rags into a dumpster. He returned to the room in less than a minute, just in time to see his new student start drifting off in the warm water.

One knelt beside the tub and proceeded to dip a wash cloth in the water, lathering it up with a bar of soap. As awkward as this was, the kid was clearly too exhausted to properly clean himself. And, as One quickly noted, the built-up coat of grime wasn't willing to come off so easily.

With each scrub, the boy's skin grew a little paler. Using one of the provided plastic cups, One poured water on the child to rinse off the loosened filth. Then he would start scrubbing again. The water grew murky from the mix of dirt and soap. So murky, in fact, that he had to drain the tub several times and refill it with fresh water in order to get the boy clean. He also washed the boy's hair, feeling some satisfaction as the fleas—not lice, actual _fleas_—met their grisly fate of drowning. Judging from the red dots all over the boy, he'd had quite an infestation of the horrible little beasts.

And of course there were scars. Jagged, ugly scars that decorated the boy's body. A few old circular burn marks gave mute testimony to just how cruel humans could be to one another. One shoulder had bite marks, most likely from a dog.

The mercenary observed all this in silence, the child periodically opening his eyes to impassively watch him work. Yet he didn't bother to ask what had happened. It was over now. The kid would have to stand up and move on.

At last the boy was clean, four once perfectly white washcloths having been sacrificed in the endeavor. One drained the bathtub again, drying his charge off with a towel. He then carried the boy off to bed, setting him down and handing him the shirt.

"Put this on and lie down. I'll see about getting you something to eat." He frowned, once again taking in the emaciated body. "…Probably some broth would be best."

The boy complied immediately, yawning hugely as he burrowed beneath the blankets.

"I'll be back. Don't let anyone in, you hear me?"

"Yes, Master."

One paused. "Why did you call me that?"

"It's what that other guy called you," the child mumbled sleepily. "You taught him and now you're teaching me."

One couldn't help the smirk. Smart kid to connect the dots like that. He picked up the "Do Not Disturb" sign, exiting the room and placing it on the outside doorknob before heading off to the local store.

* * *

><p>The trip to the store only took a few minutes. On his way back to the room, he stopped by the front desk, extending his stay for a week. As much as he'd like to return to the safety of his island, the boy was in no shape to go anywhere.<p>

He wasn't at all surprised to see that the boy hadn't moved an inch nor did he react as One warmed the broth in the kitchenette.

When the broth was ready, the mercenary walked over to him and shook the kid's shoulder.

"Wake up, little shadow. I brought you something to eat."

The boy jerked away, blinking slowly at him. His entire form was stiff with fear.

One showed him the mug of broth. "Drink this and then you can go back to sleep."

The boy calmed, gratefully taking the mug and drinking it down slowly. The kid was clearly savoring the warm meal, perhaps expecting that One would change his mind and toss him out in the morning.

One watched him in silence, only occasionally reaching out to steady the mug when the boy's hands shook.

He wasn't going to simply toss the boy out now. He'd said to Darius that people in their profession needed to set limits, maintain some sense of honor, and he'd given this boy his word.

Once the kid had swallowed the last few drops, One took the mug as the boy dropped instantly back to sleep. He left the mug in the sink and sat down in one of the chairs by the table. He wasn't feeling sleepy yet, so he might as well set to work.

He pulled out the notepad he always kept in his jacket inside pocket. He slid the pen out of the spiral binding and started to write.


	3. How It Almost Ended

Stray  
>By Cybra<p>

**A/N:** I sincerely apologize for the delay. Despite planning out this story, I ended up moving everything I _was_ writing for chapter two into chapter three in order to write this chapter. (O Lord, why does this story keep expanding beyond my plans?) I've already gotten most of chapter three written along with part of chapter four, so at least it shouldn't take me as long with those. Mea culpa, everyone.

**Disclaimer:** _Generator Rex_ belongs to Man of Action.

Chapter 2: How It Almost Ended

The mercenary frowned as he gazed around the department store, wondering why exactly it was necessary to print some garish-looking cartoon character on just about _everything_ in the children's section. It really didn't make sense why even underwear, something nobody was going to see it anyway, would have such decoration. He'd seen this pattern in three other stores already, but it seemed no matter how many times he saw the phenomenon, he was still going to be puzzled by it. Perhaps it was something parents just _understood_ once they had their own children.

He selected three green long-sleeved shirts. He'd yet to figure out what the kid's favorite color was, but green seemed to go well with the boy's pale skin, dark hair, and brown eyes. It wasn't loud and obnoxious yet also seemed to further mute the barely-visible scars on his hands, face, and neck.

One grabbed a pair of jeans as well. He'd already bought four other pairs at the previous stores, but one more couldn't hurt. The sad part was that the clothing he held would most likely be too big for the boy despite being the smallest size for someone his age.

He passed by the display of back-to-school items, glancing at the contents. He still needed to find something to carry the kid's new belongings in. However, a suitcase would be too much of a hassle.

A jean backpack caught his eye. It was undecorated and therefore nearly buried amongst the brightly-colored character backpacks. Perfect. After a few minutes of digging it out of the display, One resumed his walk to the line for the cashier.

After several minutes of waiting, he set his purchases down on the conveyor belt, watching the cashier listlessly swipe each item over the scanner. "That'll be $45.73."

One sorted through the bills in his wallet, pulling out two twenties and a ten. He handed her the cash as she finished putting the backpack in a large plastic shopping bag with the shirts and jeans.

She deposited the money in the drawer and handed over his change. She told him in a bored tone of voice, "Have a good day."

He rolled his eyes. Yes, he could tell she meant it, too.

Shopping for the day done, he headed back towards the hotel.

* * *

><p>Not surprisingly, the kid was still sleeping when One entered the room. He barely gave the child a glance. The boy would need all the rest he could get before they finally set off on the long bus ride at the end of the week.<p>

After setting down the bag with the others from previous shopping trips, he left the room again and headed to the front desk. Due to the "Do Not Disturb" sign hanging on the doorknob, the washcloths he'd used to clean the kid hadn't been replaced.

The manager at the front desk scowled at him as he approached. "Sir," the man said crisply, "there's a rule about having pets in this hotel: They're forbidden."

"I know," One said calmly.

"Then how else do you explain the washcloths you brought to the front desk this morning? They had to be thrown out! Not only were they filthy, a few even had _fleas!"_

The man was practically frothing at the mouth as he said that. Ah, one of _those_ types. Little wonder he'd become the manager of a hotel: His obsessive neat streak must've been useful for ensuring that the rooms were above reproach.

One wasn't ruffled by the man's outburst. In fact, he'd already prepared himself in case news of his comings and goings reached suspicious ears. "Maybe this will explain."

He pulled out a business card from his wallet, one of many, and handed it to the manager.

The man frowned as he took the card and read it. Then he read it again, more slowly. The annoyance on his face turned to confusion. "…You work for a child protection organization?"

"Yes, sir," One smoothly lied. "I'm sorry I didn't warn you ahead of time, but I didn't expect to find the little guy like that."

The manager suddenly looked uncomfortable as the clerk beside him put her hands over her mouth.

"You mean all that came from a _child?"_ she gasped.

"Yes, ma'am." He gave a sad nod as the manager returned the business card and he put it back in his wallet. "I decided I needed to remove the boy from that environment as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, I didn't have very many options as to where I could take him. I'll pay for the replacement washcloths, of course."

"Well, um, thank you, sir. My apologies for being so confrontational," the manager stuttered out, looking a bit sickened.

One internally smirked as the man waved the clerk off to retrieve a clean set of washcloths. He hadn't lied about the boy's condition just in case someone should spy him, but he'd kept the circumstances vague enough to allow their imaginations to fill in the details. It made things simpler should he be questioned at a later date and the version he gave didn't match up with what he'd previously said.

"If there's anything else you need," the manager continued, "please feel free to ask."

One gave the man a smile, taking the washcloths the clerk came back with. "Thank you. I'll try not to cause you too much trouble."

With a small wave, he left the front desk and headed back to his room. Once safely inside, he sighed and ran his fingers through his short hair. "Little shadow, we almost had a real problem there."

There was no response aside from wheezing.

The mercenary looked up at his charge, realizing that the boy hadn't shifted from that position since that morning. The glass of water he'd left on the table beside the bed before going to the store was untouched.

He dropped the washcloths on top of his luggage and hurried over to the boy. He placed one well-calloused hand on the boy's forehead, the other on his own.

The comparison was unnecessary: The kid was burning up.

He snatched up one of the washcloths that he'd dropped, hurrying to the bathroom sink. After holding it under cold water, he squeezed out some of the excess liquid and returned to the boy's side. He folded the washcloth lengthwise into thirds and placed it over the boy's eyes.

The only reaction was a weak, rattling cough.

He should've expected this. The kid's body was clearly a wreck, his immune system pushed beyond its limits. Yet somehow One had been caught by surprise due to his confidence that he had everything under control.

He'd been so very wrong.

He pulled the chair closer to the side of the bed and settled down. It was going to be a long wait.

* * *

><p>One held the child in one arm, sitting him up, as he placed two children's aspirin tablets into the child's mouth before carefully pouring in a little water. Then he rubbed at the boy's throat, the kid reflexively swallowing. Then he laid the child back down and got up once again to wet the washcloth just as he'd done the previous night.<p>

He debated taking the boy to the doctor, but how to explain it? The child technically didn't even _exist._ Besides, the doctor would want to know how he'd gotten into such a condition, and One couldn't even begin to explain it.

The mercenary rubbed at his eyes as he let the washcloth sit in the sink for a moment. He hadn't slept very well over the past three days. Even before the fever spike, the child's breathing had been disquieting. On top of that, apparently the kid had horrible nightmares. Given what his existence had been like before—One wouldn't call surviving in such squalor "living"—it was no surprise that the boy had such night terrors.

He returned to the boy's side, placing the washcloth back in its place over his eyes. As the child lied on the bed and wheezed, One pinched the bridge of his nose and sat back down in the chair. What to do? Perhaps he should leave the kid at the hospital. Less of a hassle. As an added bonus, the kid would get the medical care he clearly needed.

And then what? Once the boy was healed, what would happen next?

Considering how the boy had followed him upon first meeting despite being ready to drop, the kid would see One leaving him at the hospital not as an act of mercy but as one of rejection: "You're too much trouble. You're someone else's problem now."

The kid would end up in a foster home. Probably bounced between them. The entire time, he'd believe that no one wanted him because he was too troublesome. If the kid wasn't already distrustful—and, if that look he'd given One when ordered him to strip proved anything, he was—that would solidify it. A happy couple looking to adopt a child would _never_ take in a kid with the sort of emotional baggage this boy would come with.

One put his elbows on the table, sighing deeply as he put his head in his hands. It had to be him that found the kid. Not a priest, not a CPS agent. No, it had to be a mercenary who had no idea how to deal with kids in general much less little strays like this one.

He looked up at the ceiling, attempting to glare at God Himself. "Well, now what am I supposed to do?"

The boy in the bed whimpered, huddling into a small ball as another nightmare savaged his rest. The washcloth slipped down onto the pillow beside him, prompting One to put it back in its original position. Despite the fact that the kid was now properly clothed in a set of pajamas that should've been too warm for the current weather, he shivered as though he was still in his street rags.

One reached out to brush the too-long bangs out of the boy's face. The intense heat of the child's fever burned against his calloused fingers.

"Master…" the child whimpered. _"Master…"_

The pitiful, pleading tone softened the mercenary's heart a bit. He wiped away the sweat collecting on the child's brow. "Rest, little shadow. I'll be right here."

A few more minutes of whimpering passed before the child let out a cough and fell into deep slumber again. It would've been good for the child to wake up and see that it had merely been a bad dream, but at least the nightmares seemed to have temporarily lost their power over him.

He set back, pulled out the notebook again, and resumed working for lack of anything constructive to do.

* * *

><p>One was scratching out another name in his notebook when the kid's coughing turned violent. Thick globs of mucous splattered onto the child's face.<p>

He was immediately on his feet, turning the boy on his side lest he choke. The pillow soon sported dark yellow spots from the disgusting phlegm. He rubbed the boy's back soothingly. "That's it. Get rid of it all."

The coughing fit passed after a few minutes. One wiped the child's face off and switched out the pillows so that he lay on a clean one. At least the manager wouldn't be as upset over this as he'd been over the ruined washcloths.

A touch to the child's forehead proved that the fever was still very high, but the boy's breathing had eased somewhat.

One's lips spread into a pleased smile as he settled down on the bed beside the kid. "Keep fighting, my little shadow. Don't ever go down without a fight. Consider that your first lesson."

* * *

><p>"…Master?"<p>

One jerked awake at the quiet voice, looking down to see his charge gazing at him through half-lidded eyes that shone with fever. However, there was a lucidity there that relieved the mercenary.

"Ah, awake at last." One reached out to feel the boy's forehead. "How're you feeling?"

"Tired…and hungry," the boy admitted.

Yet despite that weak tone, there was an underlying determination that pleased One to hear it. Whether or not the kid had heard and understood what he'd said earlier, the child had made the decision to live, refusing to back down from the long and difficult road to recovery that undoubtedly lie ahead of him.

One couldn't have been more proud.

"Well then, let's see if we can fix that."

One stretched, popping his back as he did so. Leaning against the headboard while asleep had not been the most comfortable position for him. Still, at least he'd gotten some rest himself.

He went to the kitchenette to fix another mug of broth for the boy. The warm liquid would help his body break up the remaining mucous in his lungs.

Returning to the bed, One smiled at how his student was looking quizzically at his notebook. "I'm trying to pick a good name for you," he explained.

The boy looked up at him.

"Unless, of course, you'll tell me what yours is." He carefully handed over the mug.

The boy shrugged a little, hands shaking with the action. He took a few swallows of the warm liquid. "Don't know it."

One frowned just a hair. Amnesia, perhaps? And judging by the way the child had looked when One had found him, no one had bothered looking for him.

Left to die as garbage.

Shaking the morbid thoughts from his mind, One sat down and leaned against the headboard once more. The boy handed over the mug once he'd finished, and the man set it down on the bedside table on his side.

To his surprise, the boy then snuggled up against him, putting his head on One's chest. Then he slowly drifted off with only the occasional cough to break up his slightly-wheezing breathing.

One gently touched the boy's forehead experimentally. His lips twisted into a smile.

It had taken almost two days, but the fever was finally going down again.

"Keep fighting, my little shadow," he murmured, wrapping an arm around the boy. "Just keep fighting."

He took several deep breaths through his nose, releasing them through his mouth to relax. Then he, too, fell asleep.


End file.
